Santa's Naughty Shift
by Eric Ross
Copyright© 2025 by Eric Ross
Humor Sex Story: When closing time hits, Keisha gives her big black Santa a reason to keep saying ho ho ho. A dirty, hilarious, and charming erotic romp under dead fairy lights.
Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Humor Workplace Black Male Black Female Cream Pie Exhibitionism Public Sex AI Generated .
The mall lights bled down to their final bruise-colored hush. Somewhere a speaker coughed out the last eight bars of “Jingle Bell Rock” and died. The North Pole Village looked like an abandoned crime scene: fake snow in sweaty clumps, plastic reindeer frozen mid-prance, one lonely candy cane striped with a mysterious brown smear nobody wanted to investigate.
Marcus—six-four, deep mahogany, shoulders that turned the cheap Santa suit into something almost regal—sat slumped on his cracked throne, peeling a piss-soaked cushion off his thigh like it had personally betrayed him.
“Lord, I need a new life,” he muttered, voice low and smoky.
From behind the cardboard fence, Keisha drop-kicked a gift box so hard the bow flew off. Petite, cinnamon skin glowing under the dying lights, elf hat cocked like a dare—she stepped out from behind the backdrop just in time to catch him fanning the wet patch on his crotch.
“Welcome to the club, Big Santa. Lil’ man marked his territory good.”
“Marked? Baby he baptized me. I’m one soggy ho ho ho.” He wrung the cushion; a sad splat hit the floor. “Whole damn suit smells like toddler piss and somebody’s future therapy bill.”
Keisha snorted, bells jingling like they agreed. “You smell like the petting zoo after a rainstorm. Remember Yoga-Pants Karen earlier? The one kept ‘dropping’ her kid’s shoe so she could back that wagon up to your face?”
Marcus closed his eyes like he was praying for strength. “Lord seen me struggling and still let her twerk in 4K.”
“She wasn’t twerking, she was serving cake and praying you brought a fork.” Keisha leaned against the fiberglass candy cane, folding her arms so the white fur trim did things that should’ve been illegal in a family mall. “Thought you were gonna forget your lines, Santa. ‘What do you want for Christmas, little girl?’ Yeah, we all know what you wanted.”
He flashed the slow, gold-tooth grin that had ruined more than one good woman. “I’m a professional. North Pole stays locked and loaded till the mall closes.”
“Professional my ass. You been staring at my candy cane since orientation.”
“That little green skirt? Baby, you out here looking like a peppermint pattie I wanna bite slow.” He stood, all height and muscle, and flicked the piss cushion into the shadows. “Besides, you the one keep brushing past me whispering ‘ho ho ho’ like it’s foreplay.”
Her eyes sparked. “Maybe it is.”
The overheads dimmed to that soft, golden closing-time glow. The other elves had vanished. Just the two of them and the mechanical reindeer staring like disappointed grandparents.
Marcus dropped back onto the throne, legs wide, coat unbuttoned enough to show the black wife-beater clinging to his chest. “Come here, elf. Santa’s had a rough day.”
Keisha sauntered over, hips rolling lazy, bells singing. She stopped just short of his knees. “Rough day, huh? Or just rough?”
“Both.” He reached out, slow, and hooked one finger in the hem of her skirt. “Kids yanking my beard, kicking shins, asking for ponies and forgiveness. One little girl wanted her daddy back from the corner store. Fifteen years running.”
Keisha’s face softened a fraction, then sharpened again. “Had one today told me elves are just ‘poor people in costumes.’ Almost showed him what poor people do when they done playing nice.”
Marcus chuckled, low and warm. “We the real heroes. Smiling through snot rockets while these suburban moms eye-fuck us like we come with batteries included.”
“Speak for yourself. I been eye-fucking you right back.” She stepped closer, tugged the fake beard down so it hung loose around his neck. Real beard underneath—close-cropped, soft, framing that dangerous smile. “Always wondered what Big Black Santa’s hiding under all this velvet.”
He caught her wrist, thumb stroking the frantic pulse inside. “Careful, Keish. Some gifts too big for your stocking.”
She leaned in, lips barely brushing his ear. “Good thing I like stretching.”
The air went thick and electric. Marcus’s hands slid to her waist, gripping velvet like it was the only thing keeping him civilized. Keisha climbed into his lap, knees sinking into worn cushions. The cold wet spot soaked through her tights; she grinned and ground down on it just to watch his jaw flex.
Their first kiss tasted like peppermint schnapps and the kind of midnight dare you say yes to before you think. Tongues lazy, then starving. She bit his bottom lip; he growled, palms dropping to cup her ass hard enough to leave prints.
“Been dying to bend you over this sleigh since Black Friday,” he rasped against her throat.
“Then why you keep playing coy, Santa? All them ‘ho ho ho’s’ and zero delivery?”
“Gotta let it build, baby. Like a Hostess Ho Ho—dry chocolate outside...” His hand slipped under her skirt, fingers finding damp lace. “But you bite in? Pure cream.”
She rolled her hips, felt him thick and pulsing beneath her. “You calling me a snack cake?”
“Calling you dessert.” He tugged the lace aside, one thick finger sliding through slick heat. “Goddamn. Wetter than that kid’s accident.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.